What If This Storm Ends
by maraudings
Summary: He reasoned that never picking up the phone was his way of paying her back. She was better off without him, anyway.


**title: **what if this storm ends  
><strong>author: <strong>al-tothe-ex  
><strong>rating: <strong>t  
><strong>word count: <strong>4,708  
><strong>disclaimer: <strong>belongs to eric kripke and the cw. title from a beautiful song by snow patrol called _what if this storm ends_ (or part one of the lightning strike).  
><strong>an: **i'm actually surprised that i posted this. i've been a supernatural fan for a while now, and i knew right away that i shipped dean and jo. so i was nervous to write this because i want to do them justice. i welcome any feedback, especially on the characterization so i can get them right the next time. anyway, enjoy!

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><p><em>-what if this storm ends-<em>

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><p>Dean Winchester could not sleep.<p>

It had nothing to do with his surroundings or the unfamiliar mattress- the Roadhouse had warmed up to him fast, and the bed Ellen provided beat out most of the cheap motels he has stayed at. It was the day's events doing loops in his mind. He especially could not get the sight of those twins, those brothers, confronting each other on top of that dam out of his head. One had been living his life and trying to make the best of the impossible circumstances that were thrust upon him, while the other had used them for murder and death and all things wrong in the world.

What scared him the most was the one bit of knowledge that one day, that could be Sam.

He sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. The rising and falling of the mass on the bed next to him told him that his brother was sleeping just fine. Dean found this funny, considering how it was Sam who was the one doubting himself not a few hours ago. Either way, Dean had to rid these thoughts from his head. They would do nothing but drive wedges in between him and his brother, when he truly did believe in Sam. He didn't want anything to change that.

Dean snuck out of the room as quietly as possible. He needed to find some distraction, an escape from these thoughts.

He needed a drink.

Turning into the hallway, Dean heard the shuffling of feet on the wooden floors and the soft clinking of glasses. Someone was still up. The lighting from the bar illuminating the end of the hallway pulled him closer.

She stood behind the counter cleaning glasses; blonde hair cascading down her back in waves. With her gaze cast downward she didn't see him standing there, but for the moment he preferred it that way. Joanna Harvelle normally had a fiery personality paired with an undying enthusiasm towards the brighter things in life, so seeing her this calm and reserved was a little bizarre. And Dean kind of liked it; she looked serene.

Something compelled him to continue forward. He tried to be as stealthy as he could, but the floor betrayed him and creaked under his step. She looked up, eyes wide with surprise.

"Oh," The corners of her eyes relaxed at the sight of him. "Dean."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

"Who said you scared me?" She managed a grin and took in his exhausted appearance. "Couldn't sleep?"

Dean figured there was no use in lying about it. "Kind of. You?"

Joanna nodded slowly, balling the rag she was holding in her fists. "Yeah. I was just thinking about my dad, and I guess…" She trailed off, her brown eyes miles away. But it seemed as soon as she left she was back again, all bright eyes and big smile. "You want a drink?"

"Absolutely," Dean settled himself onto a barstool and watched as Jo went around the counter to get a shot glass. She poured it full of a brown liquid, which he all too happily downed.

"So, what's on your mind?"

"It's nothing, just uh…" He cleared his throat. "Tough case today, that's all."

"You mean with that guy who has powers like Sam has?" Dean looked up in surprise, and she gave an unapologetic grin. "Hey, I learned years ago that my mom only kicks me out of the room when things get interesting."

"So you eavesdropped?" Dean didn't know whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Jo shrugged, refilling his glass. "Something like that. Either way, I don't think you have anything to be worried about. I mean, that's what's keeping you up, right?"

Dean's incredulous chuckle was followed shortly by the downing of the second shot. Maybe Jo was just too much like him for it to be possible to hide things from her. "Yeah, actually. See, he had this brother who shared his power, and it was him who used it to kill those people. Sam thought that one day he would be using jedi mind tricks to send people to their deaths. He's really worried about it."

He could already tell that she knew he wasn't talking about Sam. Her brown eyes bore into his with a surprisingly large amount of sincerity. "Well personally, I don't think that Sam could ever do anything like that. I've only known him for a couple of months and I can be certain of that. This is Sam, Dean—your brother. And even if he does go off the deep end, you'll always be there to pull him back. So you tell him the next time he mentions this that he should have a little more faith in himself and in his brother, okay?"

Joanna's words enticed the smallest hint of a smile from him. Call him what you will, but Dean normally wasn't one for chick-flick moments like these. But there was just something so touching about her words. And he appreciated Jo's willingness to play along with his cover, even though she saw right through it.

He looked up at her. "I'll be sure to pass on the message."

"Good," Exhaling, she tossed the rag behind her into the sink. "Well, I'm going to attempt to get some sleep, and considering your current appearance I suggest that you do the same. Some beauty sleep could do you good."

He gave a short, sincere laugh. "Good night, Jo."

After that night, Dean had a newfound respect for Jo. He no longer just saw her as the girl who could break your nose at the drop of a hat, but as a friend. Or whatever a friend really was. Dean didn't really have enough of them to call himself an expert on the topic.

Jo came to him with a case a week later, one that her mother wouldn't let her take on. If it was one thing Dean knew it was that the young hunter was just itching for her own hunt. But Ellen wouldn't have it. And Dean could understand where the older woman was coming from—after all, she had lost her husband to the job and it was obvious she didn't want the same thing to happen to her daughter.

But he still wasn't all that surprised when Jo showed up in Philadelphia to help out, anyway. She was just that stubborn.

The first night on the case Dean had awoken with a start, convinced a disturbance had pulled him into consciousness. But Sam's soft snores still filled the living room from the couch, so maybe it had been his imagination. Sam was a relatively light sleeper. But from his experiences he knew it was better to be safe then sorry, so he checked around the living room once before heading to the bedroom.

When he spied Jo's figure sprawled out on the bed, and he released a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. She was fine. No blonde-napping spirit had gotten to her. He stood in the doorway for a beat longer before turning to head back to the recliner.

"Dean?"

He stopped. In the darkness her silhouette propped itself up on an arm. "Oh, Jo," He cleared his throat as nonchalantly as possible. He hadn't realized she was awake. "I uh, thought I heard something."

"Oh. Well, there's no ectoplasm running down the walls, so I think I'm good," Her voice had only a touch of her usual feisty demeanor- something else was there as well. But he could seem to place it.

Dean tapped his finger lightly against the doorframe. "Good, sorry to bother you. Goodnight."

He was so close to being out of there and back to his cramped recliner, but she called him back again. The strange, nearly desperate way his name fell from her mouth reeled him back to the doorway.

"Do you think…" She trailed off.

"Jo?" He prompted.

Her sigh seemed to suddenly compete with the sound of gunfire. "It's—never mind. It's not a big deal."

His brows furrowed. "You sure?"

"Yeah," The rustling of the sheets sounded sharp. "I'll see you in the morning."

It wasn't until later, when the sun had risen, did he figure out what she had been trying to ask him. She showed him her father's knife and a whole new level of understanding. Her desire, her need to become a hunter had little to do with the appeal of kicking some sweet monster ass. Joanna Beth Harvelle wanted to be like her dad, wanted to establish any sort of connection with him as she could. And Dean understood that all too well.

Then came another understanding— his dad was the reason Bill Harvelle was dead.

He remembered seeing Jo's eyes filling with hurt, distress, and unsaid accusations, her words sounding like he was listening to them through a mile long tunnel. It's hard hearing that your father was responsible for the death of another, and for Dean it was like the image he had built up of John Winchester has shattered.

So Sam and Dean went their separate ways from the Harvelles. Dean didn't know how he could face them anymore after hearing that, how he could face Jo. And so he didn't. The only time Dean ever saw Jo was during those brief moments when her pained expression crossed his mind.

But it seemed like he would never stop owing her. Because months later it was Jo who pulled him out of the water in Duluth, Jo who patched up the gunshot wound inflicted on him by his brother (or what was in his brother). That night she was pretty adamant in coming with him to find Sam—but he wouldn't have that. He couldn't have her blood on his hands. So he promised her he'd call her, later, when everything was right again.

He reasoned that never picking up the phone was his way of paying her back. She was better off without him, anyway.

The days that passed quickly turned into months, and before he knew it he and his brother were torso deep in a whole new set of problems. Though the death of Azazel lifted tons off their shoulders, Lilith and Dean's deal at the crossroads was quick to replace its weight. And for a new twist angels decided to join the fun. Not to mention a lying demon bitch, a distant Sam, gallons of demon blood, and a surface-bound Lucifer dealt themselves in.

River Pass, Colorado was the last place Dean expected to run into Joanna Beth Harvelle. Though after nearly three years, he had to admit it was good to see her in once piece; her _and_ her mother, who gave him a rightful slap across the face.

It was almost comforting to Dean knowing that nothing could really ever break Ellen's spirit.

River Pass, Colorado was also the last place Dean expected the final hunt with his brother would be.

The night after he and Sam parted ways, a knock at his motel door interrupted his packing. He didn't want a visitor, and so he ignored it. But the knocking continued, and with an irritated sigh Dean got up to get it. This was some persistent maid.

But it surprised Dean to see Jo standing in the doorway, so much that he actually stood aside to let her in.

"So," She started, turning around to face him. "You're leaving town then?"

Dean took this moment to properly look at her, and how much she had grown in the past three years. Her blonde hair was a little shorter, still mussed from the events earlier, and she seemed to carry herself with more confidence. But the biggest change was something that couldn't be seen, at least not by most people. He could see it in her eyes though— a type of maturity that wasn't there the last time he saw her.

He briefly wondered if this battle would take everyone's innocence.

Swallowing, he went back to his suitcase. "There's a case in Denver I told Bobby I'd take a look at." He figured she would see through the lie the second it left his mouth, but if she did she didn't press it.

"Oh," She said instead. "Yeah, I guess there's still more demon ass for us to kick, too."

Dean looked up. "How is hunting with your mother going, anyway?"

Joanna shrugged, crossing her arms over her small frame. "She's still a little protective and won't let me out of her sight, but she's trying. Besides, at least I'm out there, right?"

Dean smiled at that familiar Jo Harvelle characteristic. "I guess so. You know, I still find it incredible that you actually _want_ to live this life."

"What, you don't see the glamour appeal in digging up graves in the middle of the night and drenching a corpse in salt and gasoline?" With a grin she moved forward and sat on the opposite bed, the springs creaking under the weight addition.

Barely managing a smile, Dean looked over at her. "You could have had such a better life."

"Yeah, well…" She trailed off, her smile vanishing. "What was up with the fake demons today?"

Of course, she would change the subject. "It was the horseman, War, causing trouble and making people turn on each other."

She blinked. "Horseman? You mean like in the apocalypse?"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean," He looked at her grimly, clutching a grey t-shirt in his hands.

"Wait, so the apocalypse-" She paused, looking incredulous. Pressing a hand to her forehead a sigh escaped her lips. "The apocalypse is upon us. _Wow_. What the hell have you two been doing?"

"It's a long story, believe me."

"Then I guess it's a good thing my bedtime is not for another hour," Dean smirked at her quip. "Come on. It can be like compensation for that phone call I never got."

And so Dean found himself telling her everything that had happened since the last time he saw her. The Devil's Gate, Azazel, his deal, the angels, Castiel, and finally about Lucifer being released from his cage. The only details that he left out were about hell. Sam didn't even know the whole story, and he wasn't going to let Jo in on all the things that he did. At least, not yet he wasn't.

"So Sam left, quit hunting," Dean concluded, strangely feeling a little lighter after confessing the long and tragic tale that was his life. "That way he can clear his head and I can do a job without worrying constantly about if he's going to whip out a bendy straw and suck down demon blood."

"I don't think separation is really going to stop you from worrying about him. You've been doing it for years," Jo said. "But I'm sorry. You know, you can always come hunt with me and mom, if you want."

Smiling, he shook his head. "On the road with both Harvelle women? No thank you. My head's already pounding just thinking about it."

Joanna grinned. "Suit yourself." Rising to her feet, she looked tentatively down at her feet. "So listen- if you ever need any help or…" she trailed off. "Just, don't shut us out. Don't shut me out, 'kay?"

Dean swallowed. "Uh, yeah. Okay, Jo." From his spot by the bed he watched her cross the few feet to the door.

And with a flourish of blonde hair, she disappeared into the world just behind it.

A month later, with Sam back at his side, Dean met her again. Bobby recommended that they recruit help for getting the colt back, and Ellen and Jo were all too willing to come along. The demon Crowley would be tough to approach, and as much as Dean hated to put people in dangerous situations even he had to agree they needed all the help they could get.

Fortunately it paid off, and with a hand from Jo they managed to get the Colt back in their hands. And they intended to put it to good use. It was time that the gun that could kill anything put its title to the test.

But there would be risks- they all knew that. They spent that evening together, planning out their mode of attack and drinking until the next lifetime. Which for them, they realized, could be sooner than they thought. It was in this grim state of mind (mixed with glimpses of brown eyes and a bright smile) that Dean grasped what was actually bugging him about Joanna Harvelle.

Something compelled him to approach her that night, to see more of that smile he saw so little of. Something compelled him to grin and suggest 'making merry' (which wasn't necessarily his end goal but all he really knew was that at that moment he wanted her). But of course, she was smarter than that.

And watching her walk away he was thankful that she was. Jo didn't deserve a fleeting thing like that, and it was all he could really offer her.

Dean went to bed that night by himself, left alone to think of what the next day would bring. Death, more than likely. But somehow, he didn't feel all that afraid of it. He had died too many times to really care about his own safety. It was the others he was worried about. Sam, Jo, Bobby, Ellen… If any one of them were to get hurt tomorrow-

"Dean?"

It took him a second to realize he didn't imagine that whisper cutting through the vast silence.

"Jo?" Dean rolled over to face the door and found it open, the particular petite blonde leaning against the frame.

"Um, hi," Even in what little light the window filled the room with, Dean could see her apprehensive expression. "Sorry to bother you, but I couldn't really sleep and well," She was giving him that cheeky grin in the darkness, he could tell. "It was pretty much you or my mom."

"No, it's fine," He propped himself up on his elbows. "What's wrong?"

She stepped inside carefully, the wooden door closing behind her. "I guess my mind's just running wild, and after what Cas said-"

Dean snorted lightly at the mention of their angelic friend. "Yeah, he has a real way with words."

Jo smiled softly. "I guess I'm just looking for a distraction."

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose, a grin surfacing. "What happened to the whole 'self-respect' thing?"

"I meant talking," When she spoke her words were laced with amusement. "You up for it?"

Dean paused for a brief moment, knowing full well he could definitely appreciate the company. "Yeah, alright. Let's talk."

With the smallest hint of a smile Jo climbed up next to him, somehow commandeering half of the bed in the process. She settled down atop the covers and took his previous position of staring straight up ahead. Dean watched her for a moment before letting his gaze join hers up in the shadows.

"So," Dean started dumbly. "Tomorrow… Big day."

"You're terrible at distractions," She stated.

"Sorry."

Her chuckle sounded foreign to his ears. "You know, even with all that we've seen in our lives, I would never have believed angels were real. Show me the vampires, skinwalkers, wendigos- hell even throw in some shtrigas. But angels? It just… didn't seem right with all the evil in the world."

"No, I know what you mean," Dean said. "I didn't believe it either. And sometimes I wish I had never found out about them. Most people believe that angels are protectors and keepers of what's right and good in the world. My mom believed that. But in reality, they're willing to kill millions of people without even stopping to think about it. They're all major dicks."

Jo laughed. "I'll second that. Expect for Cas, though. He's probably the exception." She paused, and Dean didn't rush to fill it. There was something soothing to just laying in the dark with her, with or without them talking.

"And," She continued after that moment of thought, "I guess since there are angels then heaven is up there, too."

Dean noticed how her words formed slowly, as if the whole concept overwhelmed her. "I guess so."

"I wonder what's its like."

"Oh what, white clouds and pearly gates aren't doing it for you?" His grin was wide, even though she couldn't see it.

"Well hell wasn't exactly a fire filled cave with men with red tails and horns, was it?"

The grin fell from his face.

"Sorry," She said quickly. Somehow she had picked up on the rehashing of painful memories that was going on in his head. "Sometimes I forget."

"I wish I could forget," He sighed. Dean quickly put the conversation back on track. "So heaven… what do _you_ think it's like?"

"Probably just one huge loop of whatever it is you've always wanted to do wherever you've always wanted to go," Jo said. "Or maybe something like how the Roadhouse used to be, or my old house from when I was little, or-"

"What, are there ten versions of heaven?" In the dark, Dean saw her head turn his way, no doubt sporting that look she always reserved just for him.

"Well, why not? What if heaven changed all the time, whenever you- oh, stop laughing!" A light, chastising smack to his bicep only fueled him further. "Alright then, angel whisperer. What's heaven like?"

The answer came to him with little thought. "If it were up to me, heaven would be a long, two-lane road surrounded by fields and trees and sunshine. It would be this road, me, my car, and the largest collection of Zeppelin in existence."

"What, no booze?"

"Oh, I'm sure there's plenty of that in the backseat."

She let out a snort of laughter. "That screams 'Dean', alright. But it seems kind of lonely to me."

He considered this. "Sam will probably be riding shotgun, as always."

The bed creaked as she shifted onto her side, and Dean tore his gaze from the ceiling to the dim outline of her face. Her expression softened, the smallest hint of a smile still etched upon her face. "Hey Dean," She started, her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, Jo?"

She waited a beat or two before continuing. "I'm scared."

It didn't matter how much they tried to avoid it. There was simply no escape from that daunting cloud that hung over them, hissing the slim probability of their survival in their ears. He was used to this, because for years he had been living with that storm overheard. And Joanna Harvelle didn't deserve to carry that burden.

He would have liked to have said that everything would be okay, that nothing was going to happen to her. He would have liked to have said whatever it took to wipe that crease from her brow or the fear from her eyes. But he couldn't. Instead, Dean turned on his side and stared into her. "Me too."

In the morning, he woke up alone. It appeared that Jo had returned to her room after he had fallen asleep, leaving behind only the ruffled sheets. He dressed slowly, fastening each button with more concentration than needed. His veins were filling with adrenaline as every second ticked by, and he soon found it difficult to slip on his boots. He would never make it down the stairs if he didn't calm himself down, momentarily distract himself from anything related to the end of days.

And so he thought about a two-lane road leading straight for the Roadhouse, where Sam and Bobby and Cas waited for him. And maybe, just maybe, a certain blonde haired, bright-eyed hunter would be there too.

—

He didn't know what time it was, but he guessed it was late. It seemed like a lifetime ago he left a somber Bobby and a concerned Sam by the fireplace downstairs. He had taken refuge in the usually appointed room of his, but he could not sleep. Not tonight.

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw fire. The same burning, orange and red flames that shook him to his very core. And so he filled his vision with the black darkness that consumed the ceiling above, because this was one of those occasions where nothing was better than something.

He did not cry. Part of him wanted to, even felt guilty for not doing so. But the tears did not come. The names and faces of those he had already lost fluttered by in his head, and he just wanted them to stop. Death may have risen tonight, but it felt like he had been walking alongside Dean for years.

He had caught himself a few times glancing towards the door, hoping she would be standing there again like she was last night. But she wasn't, and never would be again, and that knowledge had a strange sobering effect on him.

Because Joanna Harvelle was gone.

A day ago she lay next to him on this bed. He turned his head and glanced at the pillow where her head lay. If he tried hard enough, he could still see her. Still hear her. Still smell her. The small voice in his head that whispered that cruel reminder that she was gone turned slowly into a dull buzz.

What got him the most was that she did not deserve this. Someone that vibrant and that alive should not have been taken from the planet. The thought of her not being there was inconceivable, no matter how many times he had already tried to wrap his head around it.

Jo was a friend, a good friend. And heaven should be good to her, better than any thing on Earth had been. Because she deserved it- all of it.

The world was already a darker place without her in it. The gravity of the fight that they were in shattered down on him like a ton of bricks. Now, they were all in the eye of the storm.

Rubbing his face with his hands, his exhaustion heightened. His grief was running too strong to let him sleep. But no one was there to make it better, to lie beside him and laugh. There was once, for a brief moment, but she had vanished.

And so Dean Winchester lay in the quiet, desperate dark alone.


End file.
